From One Fashionably Dressed Gay to the Other
by purrpickle
Summary: After the events of Born This Way, Kurt seeks Santana out. One-shot.


**A/N: **I don't own Glee nor the characters within. A scene I wouldn't have minded seeing on the show.

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><p>He found her on the bleachers. "The Cheerios aren't even practicing," he offered genially, sitting down next to her after dusting the seat with his breast pocket handkerchief.<p>

Santana gave Kurt a lazy, half-potent glare. "My life doesn't revolve around those bitches."

"Ahh." Nodding his head to himself, Kurt propped his elbows onto his knees and laced his fingers together. "No, your life revolves around _one _ex-Cheerio." At her look, he rolled his eyes. "_Please_. You think you're being subtle? No…" he dropped one knee and angled his body more in her direction, "Something tells me that your plan of getting me back to McKinley didn't _just _have to do with Karofsky and becoming Prom Queen."

Santana's eyes narrowed. "We needed you for Nationals." Pointedly looking away from him, she watched the Titans run their drills, "And as I told glee club, Dave and I… Fell in love."

"Yeah, and I don't have a subscription to Vogue." Shaking his head, Kurt studied her intently. "Okay, look. I'm going to go out on a limb, here. You and I are not close by _any means_," Santana snorted, illustrating his point, and he rewarded her with a sardonic nod of his head, "But you got me here, and though I am loathe to say it, there's more to you than just Satan: the heartless bitch whore."

Santana's lips twitched. "That's a new one," she gave Kurt a sidelong look, eyes hooded.

"I try."

"Try harder."

"I'll take that under advisement." Tilting his head, Kurt let out a deep breath of air. "Santana…" he started succinctly, tightening his clasped hands, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

Santana turned to stare at him like _are you crazy?_ "What?"

"Yes." Kurt nodded. "You helped me, and now I feel obligated to help you. Call it a favor from one fashionably dressed gay to the other."

Santana closed her eyes, pinching her lips together. "Okay, it's _only _because I just got a manicure that you don't have a fist-shaped bruise on your face right now." She blinked her eyes open, "I'm in love with _Dave_, remember?"

"Ri-i-i-ight." Raising his eyebrow at her, Kurt shook his head. He leaned in. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Santana. _I'm not afraid of you_." But before Santana could respond, he continued, "Believe it or not, I've been where you are. Only with fantasies of a tall, slightly stupid quarterback, not a tall, shockingly stupid blonde." He held up a hand, "No offense towards Brittany meant."

"No…" Santana rolled her eyes up, "We all know she's not the sharpest crayon in the box on the best of days. But it's not her fault."

Kurt's eyebrows rose.

Sighing, Santana shrugged her shoulders. "She's supposed to be taking pills for monitoring it. But her parents can't afford them all the time, and when she _does _have them," her lips curled, "She doesn't want to take them. They make her incredibly nauseous."

"I see… I had no idea."

"Yeah, well, don't go spreadin' that info around, or I'll kick your ass, no matter my manicure. Britts _doesn't_ deserve the ignorant stigma she'd receive."

"Better to have her adorably confused than mentally affected," Kurt summarized.

Santana's gaze was severe, but she inclined her head in a semblance of agreement.

They lapsed into a slightly awkward silence, Santana going back to watching the Titans, Kurt staring in the same direction, lips pursed. When Santana suddenly spoke up, Kurt carefully kept his gaze on the field.

"How… How is it? Being, you know… Out?"

"Santana, you've seen how I've been treated in school."

"No, no." Shaking her head, Santana sighed, looking down at her crossed legs, "I'm not talking about William McKinley High School. I _know _what it's like. Hell, I created most of the slurs used against you on a daily basis."

Kurt shuttered his eyes. "Gaymo ass clown," he offered.

"…Do you _really _think I'd ever put the words 'ass' and 'clown' together?" Santana looked at him pointedly, an eyebrow raised. "No, I wouldn't. I _did _come up with gaymo, though."

Rolling his eyes, Kurt gave her a fake smile. "Not one of the bests, but I give you credit for originality." He dropped his crossed leg, averting his eyes down to watch himself brush off the bottom of his vest. He took a deep breath. "But no, I didn't think ass clown was your style. Too… Indicative of the 'imagination' of the common jock Neanderthal."

"Azimio came up with it."

"Should have known. He's also the one who came up with Captain Gay Pants, I believe."

Santana shook her head, leaning back onto her palms, straightening her legs out in front of her. "That was Johnson."

Kurt crooked his eyebrows. "Oh." After a beat, he gave Santana a sideways look, "Do you know who came up with _every _single insult?"

Santana's lips quirked. "What can I say? I overachieve."

"_Obviously_. But humor me. Homo Explosion?"

"That was me."

"Inspired by the glee club?"

Santana smirked. "Right."

Kurt laced his hands together again. "Thought so. Flaming Fashionista?"

"Oh, that was originally Sue talking about Chuck Norris, but Azimio heard about it and took it as his own."

"Chuck… Chuck Norris?" Kurt blinked. "Sue took on _Chuck Norris_?"

Santana calmly looked at him.

"Oh, right. It _is _Sue. Okay, last one. Girlie?"

"Who do you think?" Santana snorted, sitting up again, "Dave."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "_Thank _you, Karofsky. You know, Santana, for an obviously fake gay beard, you could have picked _much _better."

"What, like Azimio?" Santana gave him an unamused look, "And no. Just no. At least Karofsky I's can control." A wide, pleased smirk stretched across her face.

"…I don't know if I should be amused or concerned."

"Shut it, Hummel." Pushing her hand against Kurt's shoulder, Santana glared at him before grinning and shaking her head. "You're lucky you're essential to the gleek losers."

Kurt tilted his head, "Of which you shall never admit to being one." Before Santana could respond, he shook his head and stood up. "Look, I'm going to be _incredibly _honest, here. I respect you, Santana. To a degree, but it's there." He propped his hands onto his hips and looked down at her, "And _somehow_, though god knows I _never _would have thought this possible, you've earned yourself contemplations of actual friendly feelings from me. Though this may not last long…" He dropped one hand and held it out, palm up, "You've still earned yourself a favor."

Santana stared at his hand like it was something dirty, but the moment her front fell was obvious when her shoulders drooped, and her eyes darted off to the side. She took his hand, standing up as well. "You know this means you're my bitch now?" she quickly regained her arrogance, smirking at him.

Rolling his eyes, Kurt took his hand back and leaned down to pick up his shoulder bag. "Have fun with that, Santana," he shouldered the bag and looked at her once more before starting to walk away, throwing up a hand to give her a waggling fingers wave goodbye.

"Oh, I will!" followed him, Santana's voice proud and self-satisfied, "I _will_."


End file.
